Sixteen Days
by opportunisticbagel
Summary: Because I don't believe they would have spent 6 months apart following the first Games.
1. Chapter 1

Sixteen days. As much as I will my subconscious not to, I can't help but mentally make a note each morning of how long it's been since I got off that godforsaken train. Sixteen days since I returned. Since I spoke to him. The sun is truly risen now and I feel an instant pang of shame, quickly slipping out from under the covers. Just a few months ago I would never have been able to lie in a four poster bed well past dawn, watching the day go by through the window overlooking the Village. These past couple of weeks I couldn't seem to do anything without feeling bad for it; eating the meals most people in the district will never have, wearing the clothes that cost more than the miner's annual income, wallowing in trauma all day in a way no one else has time for. Spending time with Prim was at once both my salvation and my undoing all in one, for I couldn't look into her hopeful little face without seeing twenty two other families who are wracked with grief at the loss of their child.

The water envelopes my skin and soothes my angry mind, a cascading waterfall of anaesthetic. Showering is my favourite time of day – the only time of day I feel normal, anonymous. Ironic really, considering a shower is anything but normal for me. Everything in my old world before the games was assessed in value, and a shower took money, time, resources and technology we did not have. It was the epitome of luxury to be able to cash in all these things in the aim of becoming _clean_, an endeavour as vain as they come. To my Seam mind, a dirty scalp and muddy elbows is a sign of hard work, of prosperity, an admirable indicator of resisting the poverty laid out in front of us. Nonetheless, I am not a Seam inhabitant any more, I am a Victor, and Victors have showers.

Prim and my mother are not home. They spend a lot of time at the old house still. Mother says it's because her medicines are there and it's closer to her patients, which is true, but I know they simply prefer it in the Seam. I do too – this house feels as much like home as the Capitol does – but I'm too embarrassed to spend time in the Seam any more. I stick out like a sore thumb. I ventured into it the other day when I was returning Posy to the Hawthorne's after looking after her for the day, and eyes followed me from every corner. People literally stopped and stared, kids pointing. I felt like the walking dead. Needless to say I have not been back since.

I spend the day in silence as usual. I don't mind it, though. I walk up to the woods and sit on the jagged rock overlooking the river, the spot where my father and I used to eat our lunch. This is where I spend most of my time these days, just sitting. Sometimes my mind is blank and I numbly watch the ants and birds and occasional deer. Other times my mind is reeling, spinning round and round in circles like the washing machines in the laundry room of the Capitol train. A phrase or a word gets stuck in my head, repeating itself over and over and over. On these days, my body feels heavier and my head swims and I allow myself to cry. Today I watch a spider crawl towards the outer edge of its web in a crack in the rock next to me, where it has caught a fly. Rue. It gets closer. _Rue. _With one gulp it swallows the fly whole. RUE. There is a hole in the web now where the fly was, the intricate silk pattern ruined, and it bothers me more than anything else. I tear the web down and watch as the spider scuttles away.

Prim is home from school and mother is cooking dinner over the fire by the time I return. It is an unspoken rule that we use the fancy kitchen as little as possible, preferring to use the fire like we used to. In the back of my mind I register that these gestures are for my benefit – I know my family are trying to help me acclimatise to my new life. It's a futile attempt though. They must realise that.

I don't have to go to school any more – apparently winning the games relieves me of all need for an education – so I help Prim with her homework. I'm not concentrating though because something feels wrong, more wrong than normal, and I can't shake the uneasiness fogging my mind. The image of the hole in the web keeps playing in my mind. I realise after a while Prim is talking to me.

"Huh?" I ask.

"I saw Peeta today." Her eyes are fixed on the fire and I'm glad she cannot see the shock on my face. I decide I shouldn't care and I won't take the bait and enquire into it. I last about thirty seconds.

"How come?"

"He did a talk in school. I suppose we wouldn't know because District 12 hasn't won the games for so long, but every year the victor comes and does a speech in their district's school. I guess he volunteered to do it for the both of you. Did you not know about it?"

Come to think of it, I do have a vague memory of Haymitch, during one of his drunken visits last week, mentioning a speech. My heart is pounding and my head swimming with confusion at what Prim is inferring; that Peeta is still looking out for me, still covering my back even after everything that happened. What happened to him hating me for the lies I told? Sensing no reply from me, Prim went on.

"I talked to him afterwards. He brought me back to the bakery and gave me a cookie. He… he seemed pretty down, Katniss. I don't think he's been sleeping much, and I don't think he ever sees his friends now he's not in school…" She looked up at me, watching me carefully. I don't know what she's hoping to see in me – sadness? Empathy? Love? I'm almost positive I'm not capable. I keep my face blank.

"That's enough Prim. It's bedtime."

Sleep evades me, as it does every night. I lie staring at the velvet ceiling of my four poster bed, wishing it was the wooden beam ceiling at my old home. The person I have expertly avoided for the past sixteen days has barged a hole in my thoughts and I cannot think of anyone but him. He must feel just as I do when in public these days – humiliated, embarrassed, manipulated. To stand up in front of a room full of kids, two of which we must mentor and inevitably watch die next year, must have been hellish. It was no more his duty than mine, and yet he did it without so much as a single complaint to me. It hurts that he is still looking out for me and it hurts that he is so unassailably good and better than me and most of all it hurts that I am not with him. Ever. I have seen glimpses of him crossing the Village to go into town, or a flash of his face through his window, but other than that we have avoided each other successfully. I must fall asleep at some point because suddenly I am dreaming of the spiders web in the woods except this time the spider is a bright, artificial white colour like President Snow's roses and when it eats the fly and leaves behind a hole in the web I start to hear Rue's screams. The sound of the cannon is firing and I am in the arena and the hole is growing and growing and I feel as if I am drowning and –

I awake, curled up into the foetus position, my nails digging into my bare legs, my face wet from tears. I cannot stop my heart from beating fast through my ears and my fingertips and the walls are closing in and I do not know where I am so I run until I am on my porch steps and then my feet find the ground and now I am at Peeta's door. I slip in, knowing I don't need to knock. I've never been in this house but it is similar to my own and it takes no time at all to find his bedroom. The door is open ever so slightly and I walk in silently to the cold room, shivering as I realise I am wearing only a t-shirt and underwear.

He is there, lying on the bed above the covers, eyes closed, and I know he's not asleep. I say his name and his whole body jumps, eyes wide with fear and I know he is feeling that split second of blind terror every victor feels when someone moves too quickly or a certain memory comes flooding back. I realise this makes me feel better – I _like _that he's going through the same shit as I am. I sigh. I really am as bad as Haymitch says.

"Can I stay?" My voice is surprisingly calm.

To his credit, it takes him only a few seconds to answer.

"Always."


	2. Chapter 2

The sunlight is pouring through the window, spilling onto my face. We both lie there, still, for a long time, or perhaps it wasn't long at all. Time is relative to me now, and an hour can be a minute one day and an eternity the next. We both know we need to talk, but neither of us is eager to break the calm, to throw the first pebble into the pond - because the ripples could change a hell of a lot.

I open my mouth and we say in unison -  
>"I'm sorry."<p>

I laugh shortly and roll over so I can look in his eyes and wait, knowing he'll go on.

"It was wrong of me to hold you to things you said in the games. I've no right to be angry with you, because if you hadn't played the part we'd both be dead. The fact that we are both alive is more than I possibly could have imagined, so to be mad about a few kisses and misleading words is so trivial and childish. I know that now, it just took me too long to realise it. I'm terrified that we'll become like Haymitch, detached and careless and nihilistic. But the best way of ensuring that fate is by ignoring you through blind hurt just as I have these past couple weeks. So I'm sorry, Katniss"

"Peeta, it... I'm sorry I lied. I tricked you and I've messed you around and I've led you on and... I never intended to hurt you but clearly I was oblivious to what I was inadvertently doing. It's funny, I did so many shitty things in the games, but being shitty to you seems to be the act playing on my conscience the most. I don't know why."

"_Stop_ it!" His voice is startlingly sharp. "Stop blaming yourself! You _weren't_ shitty to me. You saved my life. You did what you had to do - the fault doesn't lie with either of us."

He looked at me meaningfully and I know we're both thinking of who the fault does lie with. My blood still runs cold when I think of those piercing grey eyes bearing into me, threatening me, _daring_ me to step out of line. I have too much to lose in life to not be scared of him, and I hate that. I have too many things that are too valuable - Prim, Mother, the Hawthornes, and now Peeta and Haymitch too I suppose. And what about Cinna? Madge? Effie? As I go through life I seem to just be accruing more potential collateral. Part of me wishes I could shake everyone off and be entirely unburdened, with nothing to lose; it would be the only way of getting out of President Snow's grip. His whole system of power relies on love. He knows, like every powerful person, that the way to keep an individual in line is by taking hostage of their loved ones' safety.

I sigh but don't bother to carry on going round in circles. I will feel bad about lying to him and he will feel bad about making me feel bad - we won't be changing each others minds any time soon.

There's something else I need to say, though, but I don't know how to put it. I know it's important I don't fuck this up like normal so I take a while to find the words.

"I don't really know how I feel about you, and I don't think I've had enough time to work it out. Other people always seem to be more in touch with my own emotions than I am. My father used to swear he could tell me when I was annoyed before I even realised it myself. But - I want you to know that not everything about the Games was a lie. Of _course_ I wanted you to survive, and I worried about you, and I - I -. You don't mean nothing to me, you should know that. I feel as if we are inextricably linked now, and I don't think I can bear us not speaking to each other."

He is silent, and I close my eyes, embarrassed. I hear him lean down and open my eyes as he presses a kiss to my forehead.

"Me too, Katniss. And for the record, you don't mean nothing to me either."

* * *

><p>After going through the games with someone, modesty seems a little futile. Peeta has had a Katniss crash course, knows me inside out, so I don't see the point in making any vain attempts to hide myself, emotionally or physically. Being with Peeta is different than being with anyone else, somehow. For better or worse, our paths have aligned and we are bound to one another in a way neither of us can explain. It doesn't take much; a sudden crackle in the fire at my house, or the bark of a wild dog, the smell of mahogany or the sound of a crowd, and I'm transported straight back to the Capitol just as he is. Our lives have been irrevocably but identically changed, and I know there isn't a soul who understands me better. It's as if everyone in the district has lived their lives on a conveyor belt, all heading in more or less the same direction and all have equal means of getting there. But Peeta and I have been diverted down an unforeseen and unexpected offshoot, a particularly gruesome and traumatic path. It's bizarre how connected we are really, considering we've only really known each other for a couple months. I sort of feel as if he's known me so much longer though, since the day with the bread perhaps.<p>

So when Peeta averts his eyes that first morning as I crawl out of bed in just the t-shirt and underwear, I smile at the politeness of it.

"What's the matter? Can survive the Hunger Games but can't deal with a little bare flesh?" Something in the back of my mind remembers a word I heard Madge use once; flirting. I immediately regret being so frivolous and inconsequential. Sometimes it shocks and appals me how _normal_ I can be after living in (and conquering) an animalistic bloodbath.

Flushing pink, he stands up wordlessly and chucks me over a pair of jogging bottoms. A speechless Peeta is a rare occurrence and I wonder what's wrong. Silently moving to his side as he stares distractedly out the window, I put my hand on his lower back and send him a question with my eyes. After jumping at my touch he fixes his eyes on mine.

"You don't realise the effect you can have, Katniss." His voice is deep and gravelly, almost a growl, and his eyes are dark and filled with something unrecognisably intense. My breath is caught in my throat and the room seems to lurch but I can't look away.

The moment is broken when I step back and hurriedly pull on the trousers.

"Come to dinner at mine tonight" I whisper before slipping out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Prim and mother were out late last night treating a patient after an emergency at the mines, so when they returned home and went to bed they must have not noticed my absence. They notice me slipping back into the house in the morning, however. Despite me employing my stealthiest hunters tread, the creaking stairs sold me out. I suppose it is a surprise to see your reclusive almost house-bound daughter/sister return home from the night before, so the questions in their eyes were not unwarranted. It's not any of their business really though, and I certainly didn't feel like opening up to them about me and Peeta, so I carry on walking upstairs. Since I'd returned, the frosty relationship between Peeta and I has been the unexplained elephant in the room. Haymitch told me that Prim and mother had prodded him for answers but he didn't divulge anything. Say what you will about that drunkard, he knows how to keep his mouth shut.

The day is spent in the woods, in a solemn and calm quiet. When I return in the evening and Prim is home from school, I announce Peeta will be over for dinner before stalking off to have a shower. Neither of them says anything. My irrational temperament recently has turned out to be quite useful in making people too scared to pry. When I finish in the shower I comb out my hair, braid it, and throw on some pyjama shorts and a t-shirt. I stop and inspect my appearance in the fancy gilded mirror in my bedroom. I still have lingering Capitol remnants on me; my hair is still glossy and smooth, my eyebrows dark and groomed, my skin even and glowy. Objectively, it makes me look prettier, and I understand the appeal of 'beauty base zero' as the prep team calls my look. But it seems to me that the aim of these alterations is to smooth me out, shape me into something new. I miss the frizzy mess my hair would become after hunting, the freckles dotted on my cheeks and the scar above my right eyebrow. Stomping out the room, I berate myself for even caring. It's a sure sign of privilege and prosperity to be angry about being _too_ pretty. I vow to avoid mirrors from now on.

Peeta is already downstairs when I come down, laughing at something Prim is saying. I walk past them and help mother finish dinner. When Peeta slips behind me to reach a glass and places a hand on my waist, I can feel my mother's eyes on us, scrutinising. I try my best to ignore him so as not to give her more material to analyse.

Later at the dinner table, Peeta is talking about how he brought some biscuits for pudding. He brandishes a tin full to the brim with cookies of just about any flavour you can imagine. I see there is a sugar cookie with a rose iced on top – a primrose – and I have to hide my smile at his thoughtfulness.

"Oh you must take some home again! There's really too many," my mother is saying, "We'll never finish them! Katniss isn't eating much at the moment and I certainly can't finish the whole tin."

"Hey!" Prim replies "What about me? I'm a growing girl with plenty of room for biscuits! Don't count me out."

My heart forgets to beat for a second and I feel Peetas hand on my knee. We are both thinking of another defiant little girl echoing those same words to Caesar Flickerman in the pre-Games interviews._ If they can't catch me they can't kill me. So don't count me out._ I have to close my eyes for a second. When I open them, Peeta is staring at me, and we share a look of quiet grief.

Mother and Prim are oblivious of the unfortunate phrasing so are watching the interaction between me and Peeta, wondering what happened. I feel as if this will be the new normal now, Peeta and I in one boat and everyone else in another. We've diverged so much from our family and friends that the dichotomy is unbreachable.

I plaster a smile.

"Save me the chocolate one Little Duck."

* * *

><p>"I guess I should get going now" Peeta says.<p>

We have been sitting around the fire drinking tea and listening to Prims chatter for a couple of hours, but Prim is nodding off now and I feel my eyes drooping. Nodding, I stand up to follow him to the door. My mother murmurs a goodbye, gently shakes Prim awake, and they both go upstairs. At the door, Peeta looks unsure.

"Tonight was nice Katniss. It was more than nice. I don't get to see my family often and it can get pretty quiet holed up in the house on my own. You're lucky you have them. I… let's do it again sometime?"

I roll my eyes at his hesitance.

"I'll see you at yours in a few minutes."

He gulps at my confirmation of what he was too afraid to ask, and a relieved smile floods his face before I shut the door.

Once mother is firmly in bed, I sneak out. I make it all the way to his porch before I hear a sharp peal of laughter behind me.

"You dirty stop out! Off for some midnight fun are we?" He looks like the cat that got the cream.

"Fuck off Haymitch." My face, I'm sure, is tomato red. I know this incident will become endless ammunition for our mentor; we'll probably never live it down.

He erupts in laughter again.

"It's not like I blame you! How else are too fit, healthy young adults supposed to pass their time? God knows Peeta deserves-"

I don't hear any more because I've entered Peeta's unlocked door and slammed it behind me.


End file.
